


Gravity

by Virtual_Reality



Series: Steve and Bucky through the years [10]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, Bottom Bucky, Bucky Barnes Feels, Depression, Drinking to Cope, Emotional Hurt, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Grief/Mourning, I Made Myself Cry, I'm Sorry, I'm so sorry, M/M, Steve Feels, Temporary Character Death, Tent Sex, Top Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 06:25:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3718459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Virtual_Reality/pseuds/Virtual_Reality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thank you so much for the sweet comments, and all the positive feedback! I'm basking in the glow! You guys are so amazing!</p>
    </blockquote>





	Gravity

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for the sweet comments, and all the positive feedback! I'm basking in the glow! You guys are so amazing!

"I don't think this is what that nurse had in mind when she let you keep the lotion." Steve kissed his brow, just a quick press of lips, and it held as much promise, and emotion, and longing as any kiss that had touched his lips. Their foreheads rest together, and his fingers rub gently against Bucky's opening, waiting patiently for him to relax.

Bucky laughed softly, then sighed, "I'm curious. Besides, It may help you.

"Or I may hurt you," Steve reasons.

"You won't hurt me, Steve. I ain't-" There was a moment of silence, broken by the sound of Bucky's small, barely audible moan when Steve slipped the first finger inside.

"Shhh," Steve kissed his lips.

"Damn, Steve," Bucky whispered, "Warn a fella..."

Steve pressed his mouth to Bucky's shoulder to keep himself quiet, but his shoulders trembled with silent laughter. Bucky's injury had been just under four months ago, and he'd healed up nicely, there was a bit of scarring, but Bucky doesn't mind. Scars make you strong.

One finger is nothin', so Bucky had no problem urging Steve to go on and do another. It didn't feel bad, but it didn't feel good, either. Just strange, but he remembers what it felt like to be inside Steve, and Bucky wants to give Steve that feeling. Besides, it was only fair to return the favor, and Steve had waited so long, little more than a few messy handjobs exchanged while Bucky had been injured.

"Put more." Bucky whispers once Steve had gotten knuckle deep with two. He's seen Steve's dick, and he wants to be sure he's stretched enough to take it before they got too committed.

Steve only stared at him, raising a single brow as he continued his slow preparation.

As soon as Bucky realized what he'd asked, his body flushed with embarrassment, and maybe something more, his cock twitching with interest, and he palms himself, letting the surge of arousal flow through him without trying to suppress it. Maybe, he thinks, it wasn't the sensation that was supposed to be so pleasurable, maybe it was the idea. The mere concept that you were doing something so filthy, so naughty, that it made you hot with pleasure.

Hesitantly, Steve adds another finger, and Bucky took a few deep breaths to keep himself from tensing at the discomfort. Steve rubbed his back, trying to soothe him, and when Steve looks at him, his expression is unsure, because he's never done so many fingers before, but Bucky doesn't seem to be in pain. His eyes are lowered to gaze into Steve's, darkened with lust to a stormy blue grey, and he tilted his chin up to bring his mouth closer, asking for a little kiss.

Steve gives him so much more.

He pulled him closer, and leaned forward to kiss him. Bucky's hands framed Steve's face, and he breathes him in like he's all that matters. Like he's the only thing that exists outside his own body, and to Bucky, it seems that way. His body leans in when Steve's arm goes around him, the fingers of his right hand cupping Bucky's jaw gently, the left, still buried deep inside him, searching.

Steve coaxed their kiss towards a close, but Bucky's mouth chased his, keeping him close, and in response, Steve's kiss turns tender and soft.

Bucky wanted to moan, to sigh, to lose himself in the wet slide of Steve's mouth and feel the tension drain away from his body. He wanted Steve to hold him tighter, to be his everything, his universe, for him to blot out his troubles, just for now, and take him beyond the crowded forefronts of his own mind.

Then, he wanted Steve to fuck him.

It hurt when Steve got inside him, and Bucky's hand shot back to grasp his hip, stopping him. There was a pause, Bucky's brows knitting together, his jaw slackened, and he took a deep breath, giving himself a moment to adjust to the feeling of being filled.

Steve said nothing, but didn't dare move until Bucky drew his hand back, nodding his consent, and even then, he was cautious. He remembers his first time. The bad, the good, the pain, the pleasure. He hopes Bucky will adjust better than he did. After all, they knew more of what they were doing now, and he did more fingers, and Bucky wasn't as small as Steve was, though Steve had no regrets for being able to experience what this all was like in his smaller body, he knew Bucky could take it easier than he had.

Bucky gasps and Steve touched a few fingers lightly over his lips to remind him to stay quiet. Bucky teasingly bit his finger in retaliation. "I got it, you ass." He murmurs, "You're the loud one, not me."

Steve smiled into his shoulder.

He gets Bucky to prop himself up a little, trying to move in a way that would stimulate Bucky. In hindsight, he could've probably fingered him a bit more, familiarized himself with the, well, location, of that spot. Steve only hoped he wouldn't cry out when he found it.

Bucky felt sort of helpless, unable to communicate with Steve. Tell him what felt good, tell him what felt bad, it was too dangerous to say anything, really, and that was a bit scary. Still, Steve was at his ear, and he was careful, and with the consistency, with the rhythm, the constant friction, Bucky could see how this was pleasurable, though he still thought the mere scandal of what they were doing was enough to keep him interested.

The only thing he couldn't understand was, if it was possible for men to have mutually pleasurable sex together, if, in their natural bodies, they had with all the right parts and pieces to make this work, why was it different than it was with girls? Where along the road did they decide this was so unnatural? Maybe he was just being blind to something obvious... Steve didn't seem to like girls, and Bucky sure likes Steve, and he'd known since he was a little boy that fellas are supposed to chase after some sweet little thing in ruffles and lace, not other boys, though Steve had always been the sweetest little thing he ever saw. He just doesn't understand why one was considered so wrong, even if it felt right. Bucky really can't see the difference and right now, with Steve buried balls deep inside him, none of the adjectives Bucky would use to describe the oneness with him were negative. If anything, he was vulnerable, and through that vulnerability, he was allowed to experience this, to know Steve on such a deep, intimate, emotional level.

Steve nibbled his earlobe gently, and lowered his voice to ask Bucky if it felt okay.

"Yes," he'd said, "Yes. This is very." He broke off for a second, "Yes."

"You like it?"

"Yes," Bucky breathed, "Much less work, and it feels good. Sort of. Yes."

Steve exhales a laugh, the barest hint of one, and Bucky bites his lip to keep himself from commenting again.

They continue like this until Bucky fully adjusts, and with the addition of a little bit of lotion, Steve finds a rhythm, and keeps it like his life depends on it.

It's endlessly satisfying for Steve, having Bucky like this. It was a little scary, and he was a lot vulnerable, but it felt so good. Gasps were smothered in Bucky's hair, and moans suppressed even more so. He longed for a day... For a safe place - that imaginary house in the country - where they wouldn't have to be afraid anymore. Somewhere, in another lifetime, perhaps, where it wouldn't matter that they were both men, where they would say they were in love, and people would see that it was beautiful, and be happy for them, but that was no more than fantasy. A dream too far to reach, and too foolish to dwell on. Right here, and right now, in a tent in Germany, with a bottle of lotion that smells like flowers and powder, and babies: this is what they have. At least for now, this is their love, and this is how they have to share it.

And it was enough.

It was beautiful.

Once Bucky had fully adjusted, he insisted on facing Steve, balancing, and staying quiet would be more difficult in such an intimate position, but Steve understands. He lays Bucky back, trying to be quiet, trying to be gentle, but that didn't change the fact that he was still resting him on the ground of their tent. He wished he could offer him more... A bed, or a cot, even. Bucky deserves more...

Bucky didn't seem to mind, and Steve gets that, too. They had grown accustomed to sleeping on the ground, and he was thankful just for the opportunity to share this with him, but as he remembered the strain of this position, he wished there was something to take away the discomfort without taking the intimacy of being face to face with the man he loved.

Steve supports Bucky's hips as he slides back in him, needing a little bit more lotion to stay slick. He understood now why the oil and vaseline were the better options, lotion dried much too fast, but this was all they had, and they'll make it work. He gives Bucky a moment to adjust, sharing hot messy kisses between them.

It wasn't as nice as Steve's first time, not by any stretch, but when Bucky looks at him like that. He knows it means no less to either of them because it happened this way. Maybe it was even more special. It would be a fun story that they'd never tell. One that they'd smile and laugh about for years.

Bucky took to it almost as easily as he'd taken to topping, though it held it's own varieties of pleasure, It had come naturally to him, and after a moment of relief, Steve had the mind to be jealous, only for a moment, though. His body lacked the space for such emotion, and his memories of their time together were sweet.

With Bucky panting against his lips, Steve could focus on little else. It was all Bucky. Kissing him, drawing him closer, touching him everywhere, looking in his eyes, lashes dark, and damp, and clumping together. His face was flushed, a sheen of sweat clinging to his skin, and each labored exhale created a puff of fog in the chilly night air that seemed to be repelled by the mere heat coming of of their bodies. Oh, was it hot. Bucky's fingers push through Steve's sweat loosened hair, only to have it it fall in his eyes, again, he pushed it away so he could meet those passionate eyes, dark and intense, seeming to peer into his soul. Bucky didn't mind, he imagined he would see little more than his own reflection in their depths, as he was what Bucky treasured the most.

When he broke eye contact, Steve tucked his face in Bucky's shoulder, licking a hot stripe along his collarbone, tasting the sweat that clings to his skin. Bucky wonders if he's memorizing his taste, the smell of him, the rhythm of his heart, of his breathing. Learning exactly how he affected Bucky as he slowly, and thoroughly took him apart. It may be foolish to hope so, but Bucky does. He wants Steve to remember, he knows he will. He wants Steve to be able to recreate this wonderful feeling later, because, even though it was uncomfortable, he liked it, and yes, they will do this again if Bucky has any say in it, and fifty-fifty says yes. Every second between them is passion. Every shared heartbeat, love. Every breath, peace. Every thrust, pleasure.

Steve hadn't been exaggerating when he told him how good this felt. It hadn't been a collection of fibs for Bucky's benefit, though Steve had never been much of a liar - in conduct and skill. It wasn't a fabricated story he had created because he wanted it to happen more than he wanted it to feel good, which was a very Steve like thing to do. Stubborn ass, Bucky loved him.

This honestly, truly felt good, and Bucky wonders why it took Steve so long to let him experience it.

There was an ache beginning in his shoulders, but Bucky worked to ignore it. There was plenty for him to feel without registering the discomfort of the uneven ground beneath him. Like Steve nibbling across his very sensitive neck. Bucky tried not to squirm, biting his lips to keep silent. Neck kisses made Bucky weak. The nibbling was absolutely sinful, and Bucky is in heaven. Bucky isn't vocal. Steve, bless his heart, is, but the moans become harder to hold in as Steve kisses the dip of his throat, licking a stripe up to his chin. then, graciously, moving back to his lips.

The bastard.

When the sweet kisses stop, the pace doubles, and if Bucky was tempted to be vocal before, he can't imagine how. The pleasure takes his voice, and he's lucky he remembers how to breathe. He gasps a lungful of oxygen, writhing and arching, his body too full of energy to stay still. His back arches, muscles clench, eyes squeeze shut, toes curl, and in a rush, the air leaves his lungs, and he relaxes.

It takes several attempts before he can coax his eyes open, and Steve is watching him with apt fascination. Bucky imagines he must look a sight. He was overly expressive at times, Bucky knew that, but now, he was at Steve's will. His body controlled by reflex more than conscious thought, and Steve continues to build it higher and higher, stretch it tighter and tighter, and Bucky wonders how much longer he can take this before it crashes around him.

Another gasp, and Steve wraps an arm around him, supporting his back as he leaned forward, chest to chest with him, though his face was level with Steve's shoulder. Bucky dug his fingers into Steve's back, as if he could somehow maintain a grip on reality by doing so.

"You... Feel so good, Buck..." Each word is forced out almost individually, silently, and he's lucky he can make it out. Bucky also knew it was going to take a hell of a lot of effort to respond, especially if he was supposed to do more than just swear.

"I can't-" Bucky fit into an exhale, and "S'good." Into the next.

Steve smiles, lopsided, and only for a second before a wave of pleasure melts him to a picture of quiet bliss.

Steve fully understands the risk they've taken when rhythm becomes erratic, movements more reflex than will, and conscious effort, and he needs more. Faster, harder, biting his lips hard to keeps his exerted moans silent on his lips. The tension is coiling hotly in his lower belly, and heat clings to every inch of his skin. Bucky is a constant, unwavering presence beneath him, silent in his pleasure, head falling back against the ground, mouth agape, eyes screwed shut, gloriously undone. His grip on Steve's shoulders, almost tight enough to be painful, and the quivering of his body, laid out beneath Steve's, was sinful.

Steve was so scared of losing control. Terrified that if he were to let his mind slip for one minute, he'd let a moan slip from his lips, he'd forget his strength, he'd hurt Bucky. That something would happen and he could never take it back. So, as his pleasure reached it's peak, he pulled out, laid beside Bucky, pulling him close, and with a filthy kiss, tugged his hips close, wrapped a fist around both of their dicks and jerked them off.

There was pleasure, and light, and that was all. Moments of nothing, bodies giving way to exhaustion through ecstasy, and though the pleasure settled gradually, exhaustion wasted no time taking space in their bodies.

The first thing Steve was aware of was Bucky, curled in on himself, face pressed into Steve's chest, trembling, almost violently.

The first thing Bucky was aware of was... Y'now, that shit that holds us to the planet. Uh. Gravity. Somehow, it was still working, though Bucky can't imagine how. The pleasure stretched on and on, and it felt like floating, and Steve was there, holding him. Like always.

His body was wound tight, and he can't stretch out. Not yet. There's too much too feel, and stretching would only make it stronger. His body is shaking, and he's never felt so helpless. He also never imagined being helpless could feel so good.

As his body slowly comes down, sleep tries to pull him under. He can already feel the edges of his dream, and his head is heavy. So heavy. He tries to uncurl, pushing his feet down, and, yes. That works. Now he's gotta pick his head up, and he tries, but he can't, and it's hysterical. He feels Steve pet his hair, but all he can do it snicker quietly against his chest, and hope he's not drooling because he doesn't seem to be in control of his facial muscles anymore. He's smiling, he thinks, and he tries again, dragging his head a few inches, and dissolving into another sniggering fit.

Steve pities him, Bucky thinks, because he helps shift Bucky onto his back, supporting his head with a huge bicep. Like a pillow. With Steve in view, all he can think about is how damn pretty he is. With the blue eyes, and red lips. All he can say is "Love you." And slur the last part, he can't remember what it was supposed to be. Later, perhaps, he'll realize it was Steve's name. Steve smiles, and it's pretty, but then Steve tries to kiss him, and he can't remember how, so he just smiles against Steve's mouth, laughing quietly.

Steve tugs Bucky close, and kisses him one last time, whispering for him to sleep, and when his gaze, eyes half lidded, slips up to Steve's, It was as if he'd suddenly found the secrets of the universe. Steve knew he was drunk on pleasure, and exhaustion, but he still basks beneath Bucky's gaze.

His lips were red and swollen, and Steve couldn't resist the urge to taste them one more time, however briefly, and he knew, for the first time in weeks, he'd sleep well. His body's demands, at least for a little while, had been silenced.

Next time he should remember that Bucky didn't have quite as much stamina, then again, he was all sleepy and adorable. He'd talk to him tomorrow, when he was sober...

The next morning, Bucky was bright eyed, and chipper, and after dressing in full uniform, they'd shared a dozen hasty kisses before stumbling out of the tent to pack up, and continue on their journey, making the heavy sacrifice of packing light. Germany was still cold, and being without tents was risky, but they were moving into enemy territory, and the team couldn't afford the extra weight any longer. They dropped everything they can afford to, they'll return if it's safe, if not, they'll lose it all. They had a long journey ahead of them.

After only a few hours of trudging through snow, Bucky's high had faded, and he's back to normal by the time things get serious. Steve's glad he's well rested today, giving the fight his full concentration, and Bucky does, he gives it all he's got, coming through flawlessly.

They spend nights huddled together like penguins, the whole team of them, sharing in Steve's warmth, and during the day, they pick off the different Hydra bases one by one, working towards headquarters.

It was only days until they were jumping the train to go deeper into enemy lines.

If Steve had only known what fate awaited his Bucky...

If he only had known it would be the last mission him and Bucky fought together.

If only he could have saved him.

Now, he'd lost the one thing he couldn't live without.

And he was drowning.

It was a hollow feeling. A never ending void of regret, of denial, of pain - worse than any physical pain he could imagine. The whiskey burned in his throat, tasting as horrible as the last drink, but at least it was a distraction.

He couldn't drink it fast enough for it to matter, couldn't even edge a buzz for a few minutes, but it was worth a try.

Steve is no stranger to pain, but he's never felt this weak and broken. He wished he could go back, wished he could do something - anything - so Bucky would be here beside him, laughing drunkenly into his bicep, a hand lingering on his chest a bit longer than friendly.

Steve tipped the last of his whiskey back, and the burn in his throat echoed the pain in his chest. The tears never stopped. Salty on his lips, and bitter, and the pain in his chest wasn't tight like his throat, it was wide, gaping, pushing against his ribcage, threatening to break him, to consume him, and maybe, if he was lucky, it would even kill him.

Steve had never been suicidal, but the edge of death was something he was only too familiar with. He didn't fear death, and if it meant being reunited with Bucky, it didn't sound bad at all.

The whiskey settled like acid in his stomach, hot and unpleasant, disrupted by the knots that twisted inside him, making him feel nauseous, though it seemed next to impossible. It matched how he felt. He didn't have the words to describe the ache, the lack of motivation to continue, the bitter resentment towards himself for letting this happen. Why Bucky? Why did it have to be Bucky? Why couldn't he have been the one to fall? Why? Why? Why?

He wished he could tear his heart out, smother its beating. He didn't know how it could go on. How it could still beat without Bucky there to give him the life, how he was still managing to take breath, after painful breath without him. Dragging the oxygen into his body, though it did nothing to soothe his aching lungs. It didn't make sense how the world could continue without him. How the wind would still blow, the rain would still pour. Steve was still here, and nothing. Not the whiskey, which did nothing more than leave a bad taste in his mouth, and a burn in his empty chest. Not the serum, which only magnified what he felt, intensifying his grief to a point that was suffocating, to a point that was physically painful, filling his new body with so much raw emotion that Steve wanted to escape from himself. Not the thought of Brooklyn, distant, and cold, and unwelcome, not a soul waiting for him there, not a house that wasn't covered in Bucky's fingerprints, not anyone who could help heal the hurt - give him will, and reason to continue.

There would be no funeral, no tombstone, no memory, no friends and family for comfort. It was just him and his thoughts, chipping away at his own heart until there was nothing left but a hollow spot where his heart used to beat for Bucky. Now, it was ashes and ruin in a cold dark cell, the memory of the wind whipping across his face, each snow crystal like broken glass stinging his skin, and the hot slide of tears as he knew it was too late. Steve can't bear to think about it. Each time he remembers - each time his face flashes before his eyes - the pain starts fresh, and sobs are torn from his aching body, leaving him raw, yet still having the energy to repeat the viscous cycle with each remembered word that fell from Bucky's sweet, pink lips. Lips that tasted of cheap alcohol and honey, and captivated Steve almost as much as his beautiful blue eyes.

He should have jumped after him.

At least then, he wouldn't have to feel anything: every second like a blade against his skin, every salty tear ripping him further apart, exposing him like a target. It felt like bleeding. Endless bleeding, that drained the joy from his life, leaving him in a sea of dark, colorless fog, and he hates everything. Especially himself.

When he stops drinking, he feels no better than when he started, and walks through the pouring rain to his tent, empty, and lifeless, and frustratingly sober, the pain still the only thing he could feel, not a moment of relief, and he falls onto the bed and cries. He smothers his sobs into a pillow, trying to stay quiet as the pain consumed him. He wants to scream, and throw things, to claw his way out of his own skin because without Bucky, what did it matter? Without Bucky, he didn't have a place. Without Bucky, he wouldn't be here. Without Bucky, he doesn't belong here. A life without Bucky isn't one Steve wants to live. He'd give anything for him to be alive, but all the same, Bucky was gone.

Bucky was gone.

He was gone, and he was never coming back.

Steve would be alone forever.

Nobody would ever love him like Bucky.

Steve could never love another person the way he loved Bucky.

He just can't believe he's gone... Can't bear to. Can't bear the thought that he would never see him again. Never share another laugh over his shoulder. Never come home to see him reading on the couch. Never take that bath with him. Never feel his breath, hear his voice, taste his skin.

He would never be happy again. It wasn't possible. It was just a game of life, until he joined Bucky in death.

The condolences are well meant, but bounce off his skin before they can touch his heart, falling to the floor like pebbles: generic, unacknowledged, unimportant. Steve can't talk to them. He can't feel anymore. He's numb. Lifeless. As far from reach as Bucky was, though he was still forced to carry on as if he was whole.

He'll never be the same, he knows that. He'll never stop missing Bucky. This is a cut too deep, a wound even the serum can't heal, and for the next few days, as he sits alone in the bed. Not eating, not sleeping, not feeling, a nurse wiping the cold sweat from his forehead like she can help him with old comforts. Steve can't even acknowledge her, too detached, too weak. Too broken.

Every breath, dry and empty in his gaping chest, bringing no relief, and he took as few as possible, letting his body ache for the breath before giving in to his need, and dragging fresh oxygen into his lungs. He never knew it was possible for all emotion to leave someone, but he doesn't care, he can't care. He feels nothing. It's a nice way to suffer. Better than the fresh grief. Painless. Just... Nothing.

He would still fight. Continue, because Bucky didn't die for nothing. Steve was avenging him with every breath he had left. Recklessly, relentlessly, his teammates behind his shoulders, safe, while he was out front, exposed, because without Bucky, what more did he have to live for? The least he could do was spend his days fighting. Spend his time out in the cold, watching over his team while he couldn't sleep, too numb to feel the chill bite his skin.

Things would get better, but the pain would never stop. They offered him an honorable discharge, a free ticket back to Brooklyn, even insisted upon it. That his grief and depression needed time to run its cycle, and the battlefield wasn't the place for that, but Steve refused. There was nothing for him in Brooklyn. Nothing. Bucky was his everything, and now he was gone. Going back to their apartment would only drive him mad. Besides, he refused to leave until he'd had his taste of revenge, so sweet, it was nearly therapeutic.

But nothing could fill the void.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really sorry. Really. Don't hate me. Please.


End file.
